


Testament of Solomon

by Claire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demons Made Them Do It, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-15
Updated: 2009-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-02 01:33:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because Castiel's not pulling away and his wrist is still in Dean's hold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Testament of Solomon

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt in one of the rounds of blindfold_spn: After running away from demons' trap, Dean and Cas hide in a church. Sadly, Asmodai, demon of lust, knows exactly where they are and casts a spell on the church. And things get a bit... hot inside. For Dean, anyway. Dean/Castiel. First time.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ \--" Dean mutters, putting Castiel onto a pew as quickly and carefully as possible before he tries to drag another in front of the church doors.

"That would not help, even if he could enter." Castiel's voice is low, tired like an angel shouldn't be.

"I know, but it's making me feel better," Dean snaps. They'd been expecting a standard salt and burn, it _had_ been a standard salt and burn, right up until the moment Dean had sent Sam back to the motel, telling him he was fine to finish up and, hey, Castiel was there if zombies _did_ decide to attack.

Dean scrubs a hand over his face. He wishes it _had_ been fucking zombies, at least then they would have had a goddamn chance. He doesn't know what Asmodai hit Castiel with, but whatever it was had the angel on the floor in agony. And Dean's pretty sure that the salt rounds he fired at the demon had fuck all affect, but at least it gave Dean time to drag Castiel to his feet and get them to the church.

"He will not enter," Castiel says, "the Kings of Hell cannot enter a House of my Father."

Dean lowers himself to the floor, crossing his legs as he sits before Castiel, the cold stone quickly leaching the heat through his jeans. "That doesn't stop him waiting outside for us, though."

There's a pause before Castiel answers, "No, it does not."

Which means they're screwed, because the six salt rounds Dean's got left aren't getting the two of them out of there any time soon. "How you feeling?" Because if Castiel's back to being, well _Castiel_ , then they won't have to wait around until Sam wonders why the hell they aren't back.

"I cannot-- feel--" the words trail off at Dean's nod. Angel Fu still fucked, then.

"Guess we're waiting, then," Dean comments, leaning back against the pew behind him.

~

_Fire_

_Want_

_Blood_

_Heat_

_Need_

_Cas--_

Dean jerks as his eyes open, blackness surrounding him for moments until his vision finally adjusts to the dark, until he sees Castiel watching him.

"Shit, sorry--" Because Dean knows better than to fall asleep on a fucking job, when there's a demon outside waiting to do god knows what to them. But even rubbing a hand over his neck and stretching isn't getting the kinks out, isn't settling the shivers running through his body. And he'd think it has something to do with the cold, but he's not cold, not anymore. Which is stupid because it's November, and only this afternoon he'd been bitching to Sam about the thermostat not working in the shitty ass motel room they'd managed to find and threatening to steal the sweater Sam was wearing.

Pushing himself to his feet, Dean wanders over to the front of the church, stripping his jacket off and dropping it on the way, before he lays a hand against the wood of the crucifix hanging there, surprised when it's not hot under his touch.

"Dean?"

But Dean ignores the concerned tone in Castiel's voice, ignores it in favour of resting his forehead against the cool stone of the wall. And he knows he should be embarrassed about the moan he gives at the chill against his skin, but he can't bring himself to care.

"Dean?" Voice closer now as Castiel's hand rests against his arm, and the angel's touch cool, spreading through Dean like soothing ice.

"I want--" Dean murmurs. At least, he thinks that's what he says, the words sticking in the heat in his throat and refusing to leave his body.

"Dean, what--" But the words are cut off when Dean grabs Castiel's wrist.

There's a heartbeat, two, before Dean's pulling Castiel to him, pressing their lips together and wanting to crawl inside of Cas's body and never fucking come out.

Castiel breaks the kiss, turning his head. "Dean, stop--" But he's not pulling away and his wrist is still in Dean's hold. "This is not you; this is Asmodai's doing."

Only Dean doesn't care who's doing it is, because he's burning up inside and he's pretty sure the way he can cool down is the angel he's holding, the angel carefully looking at him.

Glancing away from Castiel's scrutiny, Dean's gaze falls on the smooth legs of the figure hanging from the crucifix. The glare from the streetlights outside the church is shining through one of the stained glass windows, and for a moment Dean is lost in the play of colours over the artificial flesh. He watches as red and green and _blue_ , all dance together, and his grip on Castiel's wrist tightens as he meets the eyes looking down at them.

"Forgive me, father," the words fall from Dean's lips like a benediction, "for I have _sinned_."

Reaching out with his free hand, Dean wraps his fingers around the altar cloth and pulls, the sound of candles and cup clattering to the floor loud in the silence.

Castiel's pulling away now, but he's still weak from whatever hit Asmodai gave him because Dean shouldn't be able to manoeuvre him over the altar, push him down with a hand in the middle of his back and press against his ass, hard cock pushing against him.

"Dean, do not do this--"

And Dean thinks that maybe he should pay attention to the words, but it makes more sense to lean down and lick a stripe along Cas's ear. "Angel," he murmurs. " _My_ angel."

Dean shifts slightly, one hand going to Castiel's trousers, and he wishes he still had his knife tucked into his jeans because this would be much quicker with it, but it's in his jacket pocket and he's not leaving Castiel to get it.

Castiel is bucking under him, sinuous movements that rub against the hardness trying to escape Dean's jeans.

"Do not-- do not defile the House of God, Dean." And Dean wonders if the breathy hitch he hears in Castiel's voice is actually there or wishful thinking.

But Dean's hand keeps moving, finally opening Cas's trousers and sliding inside. And he's unable to hide his delight at the hardening cock that he finds. "Looks like I'm not the only one defiling, eh, Cas."

Castiel squirms slightly as Dean pulls his trousers over his ass, cool flesh a balm to Dean's hand. Fumbling with his own jeans, Dean mutters a curse until finally, _finally_ , his cock is released, hot and throbbing and needing to be buried in Cas _right the fuck now_.

Spitting onto his fingers, Dean leans over Castiel, tongue swiping over the back of the angel's neck as he presses a finger into his ass. "Fuck, Cas--" Because Castiel's tighter than anything Dean's ever felt, anything he's ever fucked.

Castiel's moving, but Dean doesn't know if he's trying to get away from the invading touch or push back into it. "I never--"

Those words nearly make Dean come on the spot, but he wants, _needs_ , to be inside. Pulling out of Cas's body, he spits again, pressing back inside with two fingers. And he knows he's going too fast, too hard, but his cock is pounding, throbbing with each heartbeat and he _needs_.

"Oh god, Cas, _please_ \--"

Fingers twisting and moving, and Castiel's shuddering beneath him as Dean finds that one spot inside and finally, _finally_ \--

"Yes--"

The word has barely faded into the darkness before Dean's fingers are gone and he's pushing inside of Cas, tight and cool and _there_ as his cock is swallowed by the angel's body.

And Castiel's burning him and freezing him, branding his name onto Dean's soul to match the handprint on his shoulder.

"Jesus, Cas--" Because Dean can't stop, hands sliding along Castiel's arms and tangling their fingers together, angel spread out on the altar like a supplicant as Dean worships him. Castiel is tight, too tight, and Dean thinks that there's more than just spit easing his way now, but it makes him push harder, soft mewls that could be _yes_ coming from Castiel with each thrust.

Dean knows he won't last, _can't_ last, heat leaching from the rest of him to pool in his belly. Keeping his fingers tangled with Castiel's, Dean moves their joined hands down to Cas's cock, wrapping around the hardness and jerking him with each thrust into his body.

Castiel is murmuring, words dropping from him like a prayer ascending to Heaven. "Please, please, please-- _Dean_ \--"

It's Dean's name on Castiel's lips when he comes, splattering the altar as his body clenches around Dean, tight and _hot_.

Dean's hips stutter with the grip around his cock, cleaving into Castiel one last time as he comes, heat rushing out of him and into Cas.

Castiel is still beneath him as Dean slumps onto his back, sweat stinging at his eyes and his softening cock slips from the angel's body. And Dean thinks he should move, do something, _anything_ , especially in the light of the fact that he's pretty sure he's just committed at least four of the cardinal sins. Hell, he just fucked an Angel of the Lord in a church, he's probably ticked the box on all of them.

"Cas--" Dean's voice is rough, broken, but he has to ask.

But Castiel doesn't reply, just tightens the grip on the fingers still holding his and rubs his thumb over Dean's skin.

And Dean knows they're going to be all right.


End file.
